You Can't Be
by yelahlikeyellow
Summary: John and Sherlock are best friends, if not something more,. When John comes back to the flat one day after going to the store for some cream, it's on fire and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen...is it the end of Johnlock?


"Sherlock, what exactly are you doing?" John Watson asked, as he watched his best friend hang upside down from the ceiling. Sherlock twiddled his thumbs and closed his eyes, ignoring John's question. "Sherlock, what are you _doing_?" He asked again, this time a little more forcefully. After a few moments Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes. "My dear Watson, I am hanging upside down from the ceiling, or have you not noticed?" Sherlock asked, annoyance weighing heavily in his voice. John glared at him, sighed, and continued about what he had been doing before walking in on the wrong side up Sherlock Holmes.

Basically all this consisted of was just walking into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. "Do you want something?" John called to Sherlock from the sink. "John, I don't believe that I can drink anything while upside down, now can I?" He replied, not so nicely. John grumbled to himself, "I could get you a straw, and maybe shove it up your," he was interrupted by a loud _thunk_ and a cry of pain. John chuckled to himself and then walked in to see what had happened. His chuckles turned into out-right laughing as he saw a very disgruntled Sherlock lying on the ground, his face smashed into the carpet of their flat.

"Are you alright?" John asked after his laughing spree had died down a bit. He got a muffled reply; Sherlock hadn't picked up his face yet. John got down beside him and tried helping him up to his feet, but Sherlock was being annoying and refused to move. "Sherlock, you can't just lay there all day." John said, leaning down to make sure he could hear him. He got another muffled answer that kind of sounded like "And who are you to tell me I can't?" John glared at Sherlock's back, then his expression relaxed and he sighed. He lied down next to him and pressed his face into the carpet as well, tea could wait, he was about to prove a point.

The carpet smelled of coffee, coffee and something…else. John couldn't quite put his finger on it. Sherlock shifted, and then so did John. Sherlock murmured and so did John. He heard a muffled, "stop copying me," so he said the same thing. He knew that it was incredibly childish of him, but so was lying on the floor with your face in the carpet. Sherlock was most definitely going to get fed up with it soon enough, he was never the person who enjoyed playing games. After a few more moments of acting like silly six-year olds, Sherlock peeled himself off the floor and sat up, glaring at John. John did the same thing and mimicked his expression. Sherlock let out a groan and fell onto his back. John didn't groan, signaling the end of the "game," but did lie down beside him.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked glaring. "Do what?" John asked, knowing that it was annoying the heck out of Sherlock, it was always funny to see him turn pink with frustration, John would even consider it kind of…cute. Sherlock groaned again and finally decided it was time to get up. John chuckled, and did the same, but instead of heading towards Sherlock's violin, he headed back to the kitchen to make the tea he had been preparing. "Do you want anything this time?" he asked Sherlock again, already knowing the answer. Loud violin music filled the air. Something weird that John didn't recognize.

He opened the ice box looking for the cream, cold just the way he liked it, but instead found a jar of human…fingers, in place of where the sugar should have been. He let out a groan, causing Sherlock to laugh a little. "Oh, ha-ha, so _funny_." John said, closing the door. "Well, I guess that means a trip to the shop, now doesn't it?" He asked, more to himself than to Sherlock. "I'll be back in a second." He said, hurrying to find his coat and gloves, he wasn't in the mood for tea anymore, but he still wanted to get the cream for future references. Sherlock didn't seem to acknowledge him as he left the flat.

The shop was a few blocks away, but the explosion could be heard much farther than that. John's immediate thought was, _Sherlock._ He dropped the creamer and ran out the door. It could've been anything, it probably wasn't even near their flat, but with his luck…that would've been the only place that got hit. He sprinted down the pavement, not caring who he ran into. Many curses were yelled after him, but he didn't care. All he could think about was getting back to his friend.

When he finally arrived at 221B, winded and breathless, there were already many police cars surrounding it. The entire upstairs was on fire, to the point where nothing could've survive. He searched the crowd for Sherlock, and couldn't seem to find him. "Sherlock!" He called, "Sherlock, where are you?" A woman hurried over to him as he got closer, "Sir, I need you to step back please." She said, trying to direct him to a safer place for civilians. 'No! It's okay, I live here." She nodded, and went back to corralling other people. "Sherlock!" He called again, trying to find his friend, but he was no where to be seen. He overheard a paramedic say to another, "I don't think anyone could've survived such a blast." This completely terrified John, and he started hustling through the crowd, desperately trying to find Sherlock, but he was still nowhere in sight. A firefighter came rushing out of the burning building carrying a very expensive violin. John heard him tell another guy that it looked like it had just been used, and that he really hoped the person using it had gotten out in time. _That's what I hope too, _he said, and then went back to searching.

Quite a few minutes later he still hadn't found Sherlock. The fire-fighters were struggling to put out the fire. John sat down on a bench a little ways away and put his head in his hands. _You're not dead Sherlock; you _can't _be,_ he thought, a single tear leaked from his eye. He sat like that for many minutes, he didn't even move when the firemen had finished putting his flat out. All he could think about was how he had possibly just lost the only friend he had. He started to sob deeply.

"You are aware that the flat is no longer on fire, yes?" A familiar voice asked him from behind. John didn't move, knowing that is was too good to be true. "John, I _can_ see you, you are not invisible you know." Sherlock said, sitting down in the empty space beside John. John laughed a little and dared to glance up at Sherlock, his eyes were puffy and red. John smiled and was so over-run with joy that he embraced Sherlock even though he knew how much Sherlock hated physical touch. "Wow John, crying on a park bench all teary-eyed for me, and _then_ I get an actual hug? I'm flattered that you care so much." Sherlock said, pushing John away for a second so he could see his face. John sniffled and Sherlock smiled. John smiled back, and although all of their possessions had just been destroyed, they knew that everything was going to be okay…as long as they had each other.

"Hey, you never did tell me what you were doing hanging from the ceiling." John said confused. Sherlock chuckled and said, "I had a craving for chocolate." John smirked, "And you had to hang from the ceiling because of it?" Sherlock pulled him back into a hug, "Why of course." He said into John's blonde hair. Sherlock heard a laugh and then a muffled, "You're awesome." "Thank you," he said in reply, "And you as well."


End file.
